I wrote this in July of 2005, a month after I tried to commit suicide.
It was so calm, the moment. I woke that morning detached, almost in my skin but not, lagging behind watching the sensations and motions ahead of me. It seemed like a normal day, normal like all the days had been, a trance of subdued emotions, imagine a flat line on the heart monitor, not dead but never expanding either up or down, interacting with my body but not my mind.
Walking in a bubble, perhaps shrouded by a mist, I was in myself but working within a trance, unfeeling and going through the motions. My morning cup of tea, I sat with my computer and survival routine kicked into gear of its own accord, the body following its rout path of safety and distraction.
Then the anger came crackling through, but the serenity remained on the outside, talking and performing on cue. Normalcy was the backdrop, calmness were the lines. Burning, burning anger that heated in my core and threatened to spill out like bile onto the carpet, staining the stage, rose in me, strangling my heart. I walked out of chaos, eyes blank, and body moving; mouthing words I couldn’t hear to appease the audience.
I needed to be clean, clean to die. It was so calm, like the eye of the storm, I saw with clarity, death. A single directive, one order in my self, I knew the goal, I felt the ripples settle, and I knew without a doubt I was going to a destination. I locked down the hatches of doubt in the shower, naked and crouched in the corner, water washing down my face and body, alleviating the voices with its steady beat on my skin, and under the sheets of water another being came to be, a robot with a single line of code, not human, I couldn’t find me, didn’t want to, I ceded control, and it felt so liberating.
My bedclothes on, I climbed into bed, and working with limbs that did not feel like my own, watching like a spectator in a hushed crowd, I picked up the bottles of pills one by one. It wasn’t me, but it was, and there was no fear, no guilt, nothing, I felt absolutely nothing, flat line, I was in a vacuum of space, nothing existed, just my motion. I took them slowly and surely, still looking on from the stands, wondering how I would die, would I feel it? And as if I was somebody else, like the puppet following the movements of the strings, unconscious of what he would do next, I picked up the phone and said good-bye. Good bye, nothing more, I did it, I am going away, smile, I did it, put the phone down. Wait.
An angry child, why are you here, in my space, don’t enter my reverie. I block you out, you’re not here, I continue to take the pills, hand to mouth, and you don’t exist. I don’t see the tears, I don’t hear my voice of despair, its all an act, and a show for you, take my bow, and the understudy is on. I can’t see you, just the bright shining light at the end, I am making it there, each pill a succession bringing me closer, I can sense, eyes open but closed, the enrapture of being there, and nothing else matters. Keep talking, keep grabbing, keep pulling, I don’t see you, I am waiting for nirvana, I am waiting for the pills to melt into my blood, suck the anger out, seep the warmth of calm through my bones, make me melt away, bring me to relaxation, I want it so much, I am waiting for the eyes to close, for nothing to begin, for the light to take me to darkness.
Never have I felt so absolute in a decision, and though death did not come, the hand on the clock did stop, my world cyclones to a cocoon of unknowingness. Nothing moved, not even a whisper of a wind in the mind, we had shut down, closed the doors, and like sleeping beauty’s castle, darkness gave us solitude and calm and within it we slept the sleep of the dead.